Pósadh: 5 ways of watching Jenny’s wedding
by k4writer02
Summary: Five men watch Jenny Reilly marry. Pre-series.


Title: Pósadh: 5 ways of watching Jenny's wedding  
Author: k4writer02, -k4writer02

Rating!pg13

Summary: The nights before Jenny's husband didn't come home. Inspired by the scene in 105 when Jenny talks to the priest.

Characters: jenny, jenny's husband, jimmy, kevin, sean

Pairings: --jenny/jenny's husband

Note: pósadh is gaelic for wedding ceremony.

This was my fond farewell (for the forseeable future anyway) to the Black Donnellys.

Sean Donnelly:

This is what I remember about Jenny and Teej's wedding: the bridesmaids wore green dresses, skirts just past the knees, with different kinds of tops, so that the girl with boobs could show them off, and the one without didn't have to be embarrassed.

Jenny asked her cousin, the one she hates and loves about equally, to be one bridesmaid, and the other one was related to the groom somehow. The second one was named Lisa, and we spent the reception getting lucky. She was the one with boobs, for the record. She was only about five feet tall, curves everywhere a girl should curve. Bad haircut—looked like a Beatles' bowl cut that just didn't take, but who cares about that when you've got a girl pulling you into the bathroom?

As soon as they were done with the photos and the toasts, I led her to the dance floor, started bringing her drinks, and letting her kiss me. One thing led to another, until she pulled me into the men's room. So yeah, we kind of missed the bouquet and the garter and throwing birdseed. When we came back, the groom's mother—a real head case—started yelling, and I never saw the girl again.

But when I think about Jenny's wedding, I remember Lucky Lisa and the green dress. I try not to think about Teej—or Jenny—at all.

Kevin Donnelly:

This is what I remember about Jenny Reilly's wedding day: I was the sober, responsible Donnelly.

That's not saying much.

We got through the ceremony okay, but Mom and Sean were there too. This is how we sat: Sean, Tommy, Mom, Jimmy, me. Tommy and Jimmy were trapped. And Mom was ready to grab either or both of their arms if they decided to say anything during the "Object" part.

But after, Mom kissed Jenny's cheek, but she didn't go to the reception. She said she had to work, but I wonder why she didn't switch. If she didn't want to. She always loved Jenny—even liked her, too. As much as she likes anyone. Mom tends to be hard on people she loves, so she seems mean to them. But she's only really mean to the people she hates.

And Seanie? The girl with the ugly hair and big tits rubbed up against him on the dance floor and he was worse than useless. I didn't see him for the next hour and a half. Jimmy hadn't stopped drinking since the night before—he somehow got invited to the bachelor party. Tommy had a few fingers of whiskey before the ceremony that left him mellow at the church, but he and Jimmy stopped for forties on the way to the reception, and mellow didn't last long.

Tommy was trying to get to the DJ's mike to make a toast (Jenny and Teej had disappeared at that point but Tommy didn't seem to realize Jenny wasn't in the room any more) and Jenny's father was being an asshole to Tommy (the neighborhood really changes from year to year) and Tommy got belligerent back, and I thought that twenty-odd years of shit was going to come down all at once, but Jimmy—yes, Jimmy—stepped in and pulled Tommy back. They went outside and started singing to the balcony, the worst songs you can think of, the kind grandmothers sing. Danny Boy, When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'—all those.

So instead of charming Jenny's cousin or getting in on the betting—how long till Jenny's knocked up, how long till she leaves Teej's sorry ass, the Mets' chances for next season—I spent the reception trying to make sure Jimmy and Tommy didn't start any fights. They were angry enough to do it too. I'm pretty good at sizing up the odds, especially over fights, so I steered them away from any guy who looked like he might be on the groom's side.

It was the first time I realized how much it must suck to be Tommy, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Jenny was the bride.

Tommy Donnelly:

I don't really remember her wedding day. Jenny's, that is. Is there another "her" in my life? Mary-Ann doesn't count.

I didn't get hit on the head—I just don't remember it. I drank my way through it. Whiskey all morning before church, forties of scotch after, all through the reception, till Kevin dragged me home and I passed out. Or maybe I passed out first, and then Kevin dragged me home. I don't know.

I do remember the day Jenny said she was getting married. I'd known she was seeing somebody and I thought it might be getting serious but I wasn't too sure. Jenny and I didn't talk about her boyfriends or my girlfriends much. It wasn't a comfortable topic—not like Yankees and Mets, Giants and Jets. Not like what we're going to do when we get out of here.

Jenny called me up around seven in the morning—early for the would-be artist, not so early for a diner owner's daughter. She'd been up and working since four thirty, I think. Anyway, she calls and says, "Hey, you wanna come 'round for breakfast? I gotta talk to you."

I was half asleep, but I tensed up, thinking, "somebody hurt her." But what I said was, "Yeah, I'll be there. Gimme fifteen minutes."

It was closer to ten, and when I got there, she was wearing her apron and pouring coffee for the regulars. Her dad was at the grill. He looked up when I came in, and he smiled. I should've known, then, right? The smug old bastard has never been happy to see me. Never.

Jenny went around the counter, put the coffee pot back, untied her apron and dropped it over the counter when she saw me. She trotted back around the counter and smiled, "Wanna have a seat? I've got a plate of your favorite—hash browns and eggs benedict."

"What, is it my birthday?" I cracked.

"Did you tell him yet, Jenny?" Her father trumpeted.

Curious faces turned toward us. "Pop, we're going somewhere else." She grabbed my arm and pulled me out. Left the plate right there, forgotten. She was wearing a little T-shirt and it was February, so I pulled off my jacket—the leather one I'd worked my ass off to get—and I draped it around her. She pulled it close, like she was worried.

"Tommy, I got something to tell you." She bit her lower lip, and I braced myself for the worst. She had cancer, she was pregnant, she was leaving here without me, I thought of all of those.

The pause lasted, so I said, "I'm listening, Jenny."

"I'm getting married." She blurted out.

My first thought: 'Married? To who?' My third thought: 'Are you shittin' me?'

She was staring at me, all big blue eyes and pursed lips. So I said what the good Tommy, the Tommy I wanted to be, would've said, "Do you love him?"

She nodded.

"Will he be good to you?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "Tommy, you'll see. He makes me laugh, and he knows so much. We went to the art museum yesterday, right before he asked me, and he was telling me all these things about the drawings and I wrote some down to tell you." Her face fell, "But I bet you already know most of it, right?"

I looked at her, swimming in my jacket, shivering anyway, so I put my arms around her and held on tight. "Congratulations." I whispered against her hair. Even I could hear the lisp in my voice. It gets worse when I wanna cry. I didn't say I was happy. I didn't say any of the three thousand blessings I've heard. "Be happy, Jenny."

I remember that and it's bad enough—I don't need to remember her wedding day.

Don't need to remember that she disappeared from the reception with her husband.

No, I don't need that.

Jimmy Donnelly:

I don't remember Jenny's wedding too good, but I do remember the day she told me she was engaged. And I remember the day she became a widow, even if she don't. Even if she can't admit that that day happened.

Tommy took the news about the wedding all calm in front of Jenny, but he came to me and asked me to go with him somewhere and keep my mouth shut. When he pulled my gun out of the box where I keep it—under a porn mag, to discourage Ma, if she ever starts looking in the box, with my needles and shit, I said "Fuck that." Kevin's the one for blind loyalty, but I like to know what I'm getting it for. "Where we going?" I asked him.

"You hear from Jenny today?" Tommy adjusted his waistband.

"I think she called, I dunno, I didn't pick up."

"Call her." He said, flat and cold and like he thought he was in charge. "Ask her what she's planning for May 1 this year."

"Why don't you just tell me?" I asked.

He ignored me, adjusted the gun at the small of his back, settled his coat over it. "You coming?"

"Leave it. Wait ten fucking minutes while I talk to her." I was pissed off, but he sat down, so I called.

"Hey Mr. Reilly? Put Jenny on the phone, will ya? She ain't there, huh?"

In the background, I heard Jenny say, "Pop, who is it?"

He put her on the phone, "Jenny? It's Jimmy."

She sighed. "Tommy with you?"

"What happened?"

"I'm getting married."

"To who?" I asked, snappy.

"You know who." She said, snippy. Better than me.

"I know it cannot be the sonuvabitch you've been bringing around here for the last few months." A thought hit me, "Are you pregnant?"

Tommy sat up, tense.

"No." Jenny sounded irritated. "That's not the only reason to get married, you know?"

"No?" I repeated. Tommy relaxed. "Then are you insane?" I demanded, "You can't trust him, Jenny."

I could picture her pouting. She didn't answer, so I kept going,

"Please, please don't tell me you're buying his shit. That pretty way of talking won't mean jack to a landlord—Jenny, you're smart. You can do better." I knew that he was a sweet talker—I'd seen him in action. Boy could sell snow to an Eskimo, blow to a dealer. I never trusted him. Gift of gab like that, he should've been on Wall Street or somewhere he could make real money, not in a rundown classroom trying to sell school to snot-nosed kids. Course, word is, school's not the only thing he sold to the kids. And their noses ran for a lot of different reasons.

"Better ain't come around, and Jimmy, I can't wait for something that might never happen." She answered.

I looked at Tommy, miserable and sulking. Was she trying to make him act? Cause she should know by now he wouldn't poach on someone else's territory.

Unless someone else is his brother. But that's years ago.

Jenny continued, begging a little, "Come on, say you're happy for me."

I opened my mouth to do it, but she kept talking, "He's got a good job, Jimmy, and a future. We're gonna help Ma and Pop retire to Florida, maybe."

Good luck getting old man Reilly out of that diner.

"He's going to take me to Ireland for the honeymoon. We're going to see dolphins along the coast and kiss the Blarney stone and all that tourist shit." She didn't sound like she believed it.

I had to say something, "You sure about the job, Jenny?"

"Of course! He even picks up extra hours, tutoring."

What could I say to that?

Hope makes you stupid, sometimes. Like love. But I don't think Jenny really loved him.

I said I'd be there for the wedding, and then I hung up.

Tommy led me to talk to Teej—T.J., Tommy Junior, Tommy Cochrane, that first time.

As far as my brother needs to know, that was the only time we talked.

And that's what I remember. I was out of it during the wedding. I don't know where I spent the three days after that. What I know is that Teej never appreciated what he had. And now it's too late. But that's another story; not one you tell about a dead man.

Joey

You want me to tell you about Jenny's wedding? Good, Cause let me tell you, I remember everything. The bride wore white, the groom was hungover, and the Donnellys were smashed.

Sean was high on the ugly bridesmaid. Jimmy and Tommy were drunk on Scotch. And Kevin was high on the feeling of being the one everyone needed.

See, the whole thing started with a scarf. And a drink.

Hey, where you going? I thought you wanted to hear about Jenny's wedding?!

06/03/07


End file.
